


Helping Hands

by wingedcatninja



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hand Kink, Orgasm Control, Pining, Praise Kink, SPN Secret Santa Fic Exchange 2020, Smut, at the end, but just a smidge - Freeform, dean is a dumbass, handjob, no coitus in this fic, smutty smut in the middle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28241973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedcatninja/pseuds/wingedcatninja
Summary: Dean can’t stop staring at her hands, imagining what she could do to him. It’s distracting.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Helping Hands

Her fingers dexterously disassembled the handgun, piece by piece; her hands moving across the towel in front of her on the bed, sorting the pieces into a familiar pattern. He was supposed to be researching the case they were on, but the sight of her distracted him. It always did. Those hands that handled the small metal parts with such ease were equally capable of beheading a monster in a single stroke. And yet, when tending to a wound, they were so gentle and careful. 

His mind wandered into forbidden territory, imagining how those hands would feel on other parts of his body. As the images played in his mind, his whole focus was on her hands. She was cleaning and oiling each small part, the oil making the light reflect off her skin. His mind added the detail to the fantasy playing out in his head. He should feel guilty for looking at his friend in that way, but he was too deep into the fantasy to care.

The click when she pulled back the slide on the fully reassembled weapon pulled him out of his head. He blinked a few times to adjust to reality, trying really hard to not get distracted by the way her hands moved over the metal of the gun. The way one of her hands cradled the grip, her thumb unconsciously moving in a small caress over crosshatched rubber. 

He looked away, too quickly, staring blindly at the laptop screen, the text and images only a jumble of impressions. By the time he registered that she was talking, he had missed what she said entirely. Instead of revealing his distracted state, he stared hard at the screen, hoping she would think he was so engrossed in the research that he had not heard her.

He did such a good job that he completely missed the sound of her crossing the bare linoleum floor. Her hand on his shoulder nearly made him jump out of his skin. With her so close to him, he could smell the gun oil still lingering on her fingers, and beneath that the clean scent of her soap. 

**“Is everything alright, Dean? You seem distracted. Usually, I get at least a glimmer of a smile from my remarks, the occasional eye roll. I think I got a snort once.”** Her hand squeezed his shoulder gently as if to ask again if he was alright.

“Yeah, sorry, just...reading. Y’know,” he said, trying to cover how flustered he was at the feeling of her hand touching him. 

“Anything useful?” She leaned over him slightly, to see the screen better, putting more weight on his shoulder.

He had to clear his throat before he could speak, too aware of the fingers pressing against him. The images of his fantasy flickered across his mind, unbidden. 

“I-uhm-I’m not sure. Maybe.” He moved his fingers across the touchpad, scrolling down the page randomly. He felt her looking at him.

“No but seriously, Dean, are you ok? You look flushed.” Her other hand came up to touch his forehead, feeling for a fever.

His eyes closed of their own accord, savoring the touch. What if he just told her? What was the worst that could happen? Other, more gruesome images flickered through his mind at that, but he pushed them away. He realized she was still waiting for him to reply to her question and he scrambled for something to say that would still keep his secret.

"I-err-it’s hot in here. Don’t you think it’s hot in here?” He almost bit his tongue, hearing the way he sounded, like a babbling idiot.

With her standing behind him as she was, he was unable to see her face, but he could feel the suspicion radiating from her like waves of heat.

“Dean, it’s like, fifty-five degrees in here. I had to put on an extra sweater just so I wouldn’t get frostbite.”

“Uh, yeah, but the laptop-” He was interrupted by her hand - the one that had been on his forehead - cupping his face and moving them both around so they were facing each other. She was right in his space, standing between his spread legs, and he swallowed hard. His heart hammered in his chest at the thought that he had messed up again.

Her hand on his face tilted his head up to look at her. His mouth felt dry seeing the unreadable look in her eyes. What if this was it? What if he had fucked up? What if this was the last he would see of her? His chest felt too small.

“Why are you flushed, Dean?” One of her eyebrows lifted in curiosity.

He felt trapped. Technically, he could easily push her out of the way and move away, get out, flee. But he found that he did not want to. Before he had time to make a conscious decision, his mouth was already moving.

“I was watching you,” he heard himself say.

“You were watching me. What? Cleaning my gun?” She sounded incredulous, but there was something in her tone that made him wonder if she knew what he had been thinking about. He nodded, the motion almost turning into a nuzzle into her hand that was still on his face. His face, which was burning now, felt like he was sitting too close to a fire.

“Why?” The single syllable almost made his heart stop. 

This was it. He was about to tell her. It would change everything, one way or another. But what was life without taking risks?

“Your hands,” he replied, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“My hands. You were watching my hands while I was cleaning my gun.” She looked into his eyes for so long, he started to feel lightheaded. “So that’s why you’re always watching me. I wondered.”

His heart sank. She knew, and she had ignored it. He had chosen wrong. Again.

She startled him by straddling his thighs. Her fingers lightly caressed his face and neck. Whatever he had been about to say caught in his throat and died. 

“Were you thinking about what my hands could do to you, Dean?” She was so close to him, the whisper fanned warm breath over his face.

His voice failed him, so he nodded. The motion changed the feeling of her fingers still moving in soft caresses on his skin. He knew she would be able to feel the bulge in his jeans pressing against her core. He wondered if she was as turned on as he was.

Her hands moved away from his face to caress the flannel off his shoulders. He let it fall over the back of the chair and promptly forgot about it. She trailed her fingers up his arms, raising goosebumps in their wake that turned into a shiver down his spine. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if she was using magic on him.

He felt the warmth of her hands through the t-shirt while she slid them down to grab the hem with one hand. She pulled the shirt up, exposing his torso an inch at a time. Her free hand followed, tracing nonsensical patterns across his skin. Dean was lost in the feeling of her hands finally on his skin.

She pulled the t-shirt over his head and discarded it, already busy exploring the expanse of skin before her. He watched her face, seeing her eyes sparkle with excitement, a small smile on her lips. Then he had to close his eyes and focus on breathing when her fingers found his nipples. His brain short-circuited from too much pleasure.

He felt her grind against his bulge while she toyed with his nipples until they were almost too sensitive to touch. Sliding her hands down his ribs, she leaned down to flick her tongue over first one, then the other, soothing and arousing at the same time. 

Her hands slid back up to his face, cradling it while she placed small soft kisses on his lips.

“Dean. Look at me,” she whispered.

He struggled to open his eyes and found himself staring straight into hers. He was drowning, and happy about it. It took him a moment to realize that she was talking.

“-hind your back,” she finished, then started over when he did not move. “Clasp your hands behind your back, Dean.”

Still drowning in her eyes, he obeyed. 

“Good boy.” 

A small sound escaped him at that before he could smother it. Instinct made him want to hide that side of him, but he pushed that back. He trusted her. He wanted to be a good boy for her. He wanted to be her good boy.

He kept his eyes on her face while her fingers continued exploring. When she touched him right above his waistband, his abs tightened in anticipation. He was panting, and uncomfortably hard, and he still had his pants on. It made his mind reel, thinking about what might happen when those came off. And then her fingers were at his belt buckle, working it open, and Dean lost the ability to breathe.

Once the belt was unbuckled, instead of starting on the button and zipper, she moved to tease her fingers over his bulge. She traced the outline of him, her short nails scratching over the fabric. His hands ached with how hard he was clenching them together to stop himself from touching her. Her hands were driving him insane and he was loving every second.

By the time she moved to work on the button, he was a sweaty panting mess. He knew that she could easily have had his pants open in seconds, but she was taking her time, pulling the zipper down one millimeter at a time. Part of him wanted her to go faster, while another part wanted this to last forever. The anticipation was such sweet torture.

When she finally had his jeans open, he lifted his butt off the chair just enough that she could pull them off, along with his boxers. The cool air of the motel room was a shock on his cock, but it only lasted until she had discarded the clothes. At the feeling of her fingers on him, Dean let out a shuddering moan. 

His fantasy had been far short of the real thing. Compared to the cool air, her fingers felt burning hot against his skin. She trailed her fingertips along the underside of his length, then paid extra attention to the tip. Using only her fingers, she tickled and teased him until he was ready to beg. For what, he had no idea.

As if she sensed his thoughts, she finally wrapped one hand around his cock and squeezed it gently. The other hand dipped lower to grip his balls carefully. His head fell back when she simultaneously stroked his cock, and rolled his balls in her fingers, tugging just enough to add an undercurrent of fear to his pleasure. The sensations were overwhelming, too much, and not enough at the same time. Her hand on his cock moved in slow steady strokes. Enough to keep him on edge, but not enough to push him over it. 

Lifting his head, Dean focused on her hands, watching her fingers move up and down his shaft. Every few strokes, her thumb would swipe over the tip, or rub against his sweet spot. Each time, shivers went up and down his spine, and he felt the familiar tightening in his belly. 

She cradled his balls in her hand, but two fingers dipped lower still, gently massaging his taint and drawing a strangled moan from his lips. His hips rolled, fighting the urge to thrust into her touch. His moans and whimpers sounded suspiciously like sobs, but he was too far gone to care. 

If she had stroked him faster, or harder, he could have come already, but she was drawing it out, prolonging the sweet agony. His body was covered in sweat, trembling with the need to come. With his last rational brain cell, Dean realized that he loved that she was in control of his release. The thought almost pushed him over the edge, but he fought it back. It helped that she seemed to sense it and stopped stroking.

Her warm breath caressed his cock while her hands caressed his skin from his thighs to his hips, long soothing strokes. When she wrapped her hand around his cock again, he felt her lips on his thigh, then her teeth. She peppered gentle bites along the inside of his thighs while squeezing his cock. When she started stroking him again, he could feel the orgasm building. The bites were pushing him over the edge, slowly but inexorably. He could see in her eyes that she knew it too. 

With each stroke, he was drawn toward the edge. His balls drew up, his belly tightened, shivers went up and down his spine. And then he was there, teetering on the edge of the precipice.

“I-I’m-fuck,” he stuttered.

“I know. Let go, I’ve got you,” she whispered, her breath hot against his thigh.

The chair creaked beneath him when he tensed, his body shook, and he felt the release from his toes to the top of his head. It felt like his soul had just left his body through his cock. He thought he screamed, but it might have just been in his head.

Her hands kept stroking him through the orgasm, until he flinched away, too sensitive for her touch. Instead, she stroked his thighs and hips, soothing him, reassuring him of her presence. He thought he blacked out for a moment. 

When he had recovered enough to move, he met her eyes.

“Such a good boy for me, Dean. That was exquisite,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling.

He felt his face heat at the praise, but also the warmth in his chest that came from making her happy.

“You realize that I’m never letting you go, right?” She cocked her head, curious about what he would say.

“I’m ok with that,” he replied, his voice still hoarse.

“Excellent,” she grinned and smacked his thigh lightly. “Now, let’s get these ghouls taken care of so we can go home. I have ideas.”

He snorted a laugh at the mischievous look on her face.

“Yeah, sure, as soon as I’m able to move again.”


End file.
